


cat out of the (grocery) bag

by kingstier



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, grocery AU, the grocery au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstier/pseuds/kingstier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This man, <i>Thorin,</i> as it says on his ID card, is an absolute enigma to Bilbo. An enigma with tree trunks for arms and a waterfall of hair, wearing a vee-neck shirt for heaven's sake.</p><p>And, he buys the oddest combination of groceries—not that Bilbo pays attention to that, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cat out of the (grocery) bag

Being a cashier at lane four of a _Greenwoods_ grocery chain is not what Bilbo expected to do after grad school.

He expected to maybe have his first book published by now and probably start on the second, to somehow finally get his damned cat to stop stealing all of his loose change and ripping the shiny buttons off his clothes, to be anywhere else doing something other than repeating a mandated chipper ‘have a nice day’ every few minutes.

So, yes, maybe he did have high hopes (especially with the cat thing) but all things considered, it’s not really all that horrible at the moment. Bilbo is in the middle of revising his manuscript for the who-even-knows-anymore time—and curse the fact that lately when he tries to think of new things all that comes to him are produce code numbers—and he’s actually found a publisher that’s interested in his story via one of his college acquaintances. And that in itself was a bit of a shock; not that his dear friend Balin had a younger brother who worked at a publishing firm, but that his brother was tall and inked and positively menacing. The man was strict and wanted nothing but the best and thus promptly sent Bilbo away to fix up a few flat characters because ‘ _they remind me a bit of my ass of a cousin, lad._ ’

No offense was taken, but that being said, this cashiering job wasn’t bad seeing as it allows him the chance to study people and get a sense of (or at least guess) a person’s character.

“Have a nice day.”

A grunt.

Speaking of character. This man, _Thorin_ , as it says on his ID card, is an absolute enigma to Bilbo. An enigma with tree trunks for arms and a waterfall of hair, wearing a vee-neck shirt for heaven’s sake.

Bilbo’s curiosity towards _Thorin_ started a few months back when he first got the job. It was nothing out of the ordinary, he had just finished ringing up an old man who had the tendency of smuggling in birds under his hat (the day a toddler accidentally knocked it off was a day Bilbo never wanted to remember again) when Thorin stepped up to the register and promptly froze. Bilbo remembers feeling tense, mind racing as he debated whether he should call someone before he got robbed in broad daylight of a bustling store, but in the end Thorin only gave a mighty scowl and paid for his things.

It was _odd_ and to this day Bilbo still hasn’t figured it, and him, out.

Not that he’s going to do anything with the information when he does, mind. It’s probably out of protocol to be so interested in grumpy customers with impressive beards anyway.

And if Bilbo privately thinks that the combination of things Thorin always buys is nothing less than _odd_ then it’s no one’s business but his own.

*

Ham, eggs, lemons, lettuce, oranges. Those are the only things Thorin buys three weeks after their earth-stopping meeting.

The week after that isn’t much different: grapes, oranges, olives, date-plums, danish, apples, and a yam. _The man sure likes his fruits and vegetables_ , Bilbo thinks.

The next two weeks following are a feat because Thorin buys an entire basket of groceries, food types of varying kinds from all over the nutrition pyramid rather than just a handful of fruits and vegetables. Also, he’s got two little boys with him each time. At first Bilbo had thought them to be his sons, but a single shriek of ‘uncle!’ loud enough to leave a ringing in his ears corrected that.

“Hello again,” Bilbo says throwing all three of them a smile, “who are these little guys?”

Thorin opens his mouth to answer. “ _Kili!_ ” he yells instead when the boy with hair dark as his pulls on his vee-neck collar to drop a pack of _Strider_ gum inside it. Thorin flushes up to his ears and Bilbo takes great pride in being witness to it. The boys snicker into their palms and Bilbo turns away politely when Thorin fishes inside his shirt for the gum.

“Kili,” Thorin coughs, pushing said boy away, and then points to the blond hanging off the cart nearly falling off from his laughter, “and that’s Fili. My nephews.”

So he’s a family kind of guy, Bilbo notes to himself, watching Thorin’s eyes crinkle as he gently bats Fili and Kili on the head.

“Uncle, we need to get a whole lot of Strider gum because it’s Mr. Aragorn’s favorite, and I need more stickers on the wall!” Kili says with an expression conveying Great Importance.

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to earn your way to the top rather than buy it with gum?” Bilbo asks him with a smile, scanning the last of their purchases.

Kili turns his wide eyes to him, “You don’t understand, Mr. Boggins, _stickers!_ ”

It’s not until Bilbo is nice and cozy inside his bed that night with his cat warming his feet that he realizes he never told Kili his name.

What Bilbo knows so far about Thorin is that he’s a pretty reserved guy (as well as just pretty, in general), he has two nephews, he usually has his hair tied back and keeps his beard clean and clipped short, and he buys a lot of fruits and vegetables. So, in short, he doesn’t know much. And as a simple cashier working for a little extra money, wouldn’t knowing that much be enough? Bilbo doesn’t want to treat Thorin as some research project for his book—he’s just… interested. That’s all. Probably slightly-maybe-kind-of attracted to him, too, but that’s beside the point.

On a quiet Wednesday morning, the least busy time of the week, of his third month at _Greenwoods_ he meets another member of the Durin line.

“—not going to pay for your stuff too.” Bilbo hears faintly, and he knows that he probably shouldn’t have, (because what does that say about him?) but he instantly recognized it as Thorin’s voice: gruff and always straight to the point.

“Oh come on, we’re here together and you’re going to make your poor baby sister pay for her own groceries?”

“I’m only paying for the things I need. And we are not here together; you bullied your way into my car.”

“Things you _need?_ Since when do you _need_ yogurt—“

“ _Shut up._ ” Bilbo hears Thorin hiss as he rounds the magazines into lane four with who he assumes is Thorin’s sister manning the cart. With hair dark as obsidian and the same sharp nose, there was no mistaking it. Bilbo also realizes, a little too late, that she has the same mischievous expressing that young little Kili had right before he shoved a pack of gum down Thorin’s shirt.

“Oh!” she says in a mock whisper, one hand theatrically half covering her mouth, “This is the guy you and Dwalin were jabbering about?”

Small world. “Good morning,” he says, making a mental note to tear Dwalin a new one the next time he sees him; tattoos, crooked nose and intimidation be damned. How did everyone in this city know each other?

“Hi,” Thorin grunts, avoiding all eye contact, and Bilbo notices that today his hair is resting on his shoulders in a neat braid. _Unbelievable,_ Bilbo thinks, trying to focus on his job, _unbelievably—_ no, no. He’s not even going to finish that thought.

“These are mine,” Thorin says and manages to place his yogurt, oats, udon, apples, raspberries, and eggs on the conveyor before his sister butts in, unloading her side of the cart with the ease and swiftness that only a mother could.

“And these are mine, which Thorin will also be paying for because he forgot to do the shopping yesterday like he was supposed to, so _don’t_ separate them,” she says, ignoring the way Thorin rolls his eyes at her.

Bilbo has to hold back a grin, “That won’t be a problem. Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

“Oh, we certainly did, isn’t that right brother dearest,” she nudges Thorin in the ribs with her elbow, “I’m Dis, our cousin Dwalin has mentioned you.”

Cousins then. Well, Dwalin’s comment about his ‘ _ass of a cousin_ ’ makes a whole lot of sense now. Bilbo even sees the family resemblance, a trademarked scowl! (Admittedly, it is a little more endearing on Thorin.)

“Good things, I hope,” Bilbo jokes.

“Nothing but,” Dis gives him a bold wink. Behind her, Thorin scrubs at his beard and groans out a weak _oh my god._

Bilbo finds that he gets along with Dis splendidly, and to the point where it took a personal visit from his manager to get her to leave. Not that it would’ve been a problem if she stayed, seeing as there were less than fifteen people total milling about the store, but apparently the _Greenleafs_ and _Durins_ weren’t on the friendliest terms. Which not only brought Bilbo back to the matter of how everyone in this city knew each other, but also what had he gotten himself into by moving out of his little homely country? He wonders if he should be expecting family members with slicked back hair and leather jackets to appear any second now, snapping their fingers and shimmying their shoulders to an unheard song.

Despite that and despite the glare he received from his boss (Bilbo hopes his paycheck doesn’t suffer for fraternizing with the Durins-slash-the-enemies) Bilbo notices that Thorin is a lot more cordial with him after meeting with his sister. Dis’ apparent approval of him probably meant something to Thorin, but what that something is isn’t clear to Bilbo.

They start to make small talk about things other than the weather whenever Thorin comes around, such as their nephews, their breakfast preferences (and that one was a rather heated debate— _fried not poached_ Thorin had said, and Bilbo argued that Thorin simply hadn’t had a well poached egg yet), and on the rare occasion Bilbo made a joke, Thorin had laughed.

That rare occasion was an embarrassing one for both of them. “Ah, a stick of butter today,“ Bilbo observes, “did you know that when you make butter, there is little margarine for error?” It takes half a second for Bilbo to regret the joke that fell from his lips when Thorin frowns at him, but not even half as much of half a second later his face bursts into flames after Thorin doubles over, shaking with suppressed laughter. Bilbo should be proud that someone of his tiny stature reduced a lug of a man like Thorin to snorts and giggles with a dumb pun, he really should, but all he can feel is the mortifying heat on his face and absolute embarrassment.

Five months from the first day, and two from when Bilbo learned that Thorin has a very nice smile (especially when directed towards him; oh, hush his traitorous heart), Thorin comes in with Dwalin on his heels during a busy Friday.

For a split second Bilbo is worried that Dwalin will ask him how the manuscript is coming along, because the answer is not at all. But Dwalin doesn’t say a single word to him; he only stands at Thorin’s shadow with his arms crossed, glaring at the bun of hair on Thorin’s head.

Thorin slaps down a small bundle of sunflowers, white roses, and white carnations and when Bilbo greets him with a hello and a raised brow, he says, “For—for Fili. His… friend is sick and he was,” he frowns, “insistent.”

He hands Bilbo a five bill and takes his leave, not even bothering with his receipt and change.

“Word of advice, lad,” Dwalin finally speaks up with a pinched look, watching Bilbo stare after Thorin’s retreating figure with disbelief for long enough that he can’t deny staring at all, “Thorin used to be in the army and has practice at coded messages. Take that as you will and finally put us out of our misery, yeah?”

*

“’Coded messages’?” Bilbo says dubiously, index and middle fingers held up in air quotes, “What could that possibly mean?”

“You know Thorin, he’s a guy of little words and many actions, he just needs a bit of time. A few more weeks, say three, sounds good.”

“No, that’s the thing Bof, I don’t—“ Bilbo stops, narrowing his eyes, “What? What do you mean by that?”

Bofur blinks owlishly up at him from beneath his floppy hat and ducks behind his coffee, “Know what, what d’you mean, I haven’t said anything, ha—“

Bilbo slams his mug of tea on the table and regrets it immediately when Bofur’s cousin shoots him a disappointed look, “Sorry Bifur,” he says, gently setting the steaming mug on an engraved wooden coaster, “Little words, many actions, coded messages? Am I the only one out of the loop here?”

“No,” Bofur says emphatically, “Not at all, ‘Bo! It’s just, there’s this thing, you see, it’s a bit,” he shrugs, then aimlessly gestures around with his hands. Behind him, Bifur looks Bilbo dead in the eye and signs, _there’s a bet._

Bilbo can’t honestly say he’s surprised, but he also can’t say that he’s not angry. “So who’s in on it,” he demands. Being aware of it now, it sort of explained everyone’s behavior: from Bofur’s sudden interest in his _little crush_ (Bofur’s word choice, not Bilbo’s) to _Balin’s_ sudden interest—the sudden shift in their usual comfortable little talks about literature and en-dashes and em-dashes and what have you to the forget-me-not color of Thorin’s eyes.

Bofur winces, “Oh, not many, not really! Just Thorin’s family and a few mutual friends we’ve got… and then some.”

Walking over, Bifur gives a small shake of his head, _the bet is that Thorin asks you out soon. Not going to lie, I thought he was too chicken to do it. Looks like I’ll be coming out of this rich._

“You can’t give it away, cousin!” Bofur cries. He sighs into his coffee, “Thorin found out about it a few days ago. Knowing him, he’ll wait centuries just to spite us all.”

That gives Bilbo a bit of pause, “So, what you’re saying is,” he says slowly, just to be sure Bifur doesn’t mistakenly read his lips, “the bet is about Thorin, tall as a tree Thorin, asking me, Bilbo, out, and not the other way around?”

Bifur gets a wicked little gleam in his eye and he grins, tapping the side of his nose knowingly.

*

“Thorin,” Bilbo greets with a tiny smile the next time Thorin comes in.

 _Coded message,_ Dwalin had said. Looking back on it, Bilbo never noticed anything different about Thorin. He didn’t tap his fingers to a rhythm, didn’t blink his eyes too often to be Morse code, and he didn’t leave any ciphers behind to be decrypted. The only thing that was ever off, that was _odd_ , were the groceries.

Today, Thorin has iceberg-lettuce, leek, ice-cream, kiwis, eggplant, yogurt, okra, and unsalted-nuts with him. Bilbo watches as Thorin methodically lines them up in that specific order, spacing them close enough together. It’s such an obvious move that Bilbo can’t believe it’s taken him this long to notice it.

With that in mind, he thinks back to the flowers and—oh. Sunflowers, white roses, and white carnations. Those are not something a child gives to their sick friend.

“I—“ Thorin begins, staring hard at the orderly row of his groceries slowly moving on the conveyor. Eventually, once the unsalted nuts are scanned and bagged, he settles with, “I’ll be paying with credit.”

Bilbo isn’t the best at reading people, but even he can tell that that wasn’t what Thorin wanted to say. It was evident in the way that he held himself, with his brows drawn and his arms held tight at his sides. Lucky for them both, Bilbo has cracked the code.

Not wanting to lose his nerve, Bilbo rips the receipt out of the machine and quickly scribbles onto the empty area on the bottom portion of it. “Make sure to look over your receipt, to check if everything’s correct,” he rushes out just a tad breathlessly.

Thorin blinks at him, slightly bewildered, but nods. “See you,” he says softly, defeatedly.

Bilbo is still looking at him when Thorin dips his head to read over his receipt. Then, Thorin’s head snaps up and he whips around to give Bilbo a wide eyed look, red creeping up to his cheeks from beneath the collar of his shirt. Bilbo can feel himself flush, but he doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” Thorin chokes out faintly, stumbling towards the store’s exit, “yeah,” he repeats, giving Bilbo a firm nod.

A degree in English but it only took one stunned bearded face to send him speechless. He’s a fool of a Took, as his mother used to affectionately say, following impulses of the heart, but still Bilbo huffs in relief and waves more enthusiastically, “See you.”

*

Thorin walks towards the sliding glass doors unsteadily, his knees feeling like pudding left under the sun, with only the grocery cart keeping him upright. A large silly grin forces its way to his lips when he grants himself another look at the small slip of paper in his hands, eyes tracing the neat script in black ink,

_Milk, eggs, tea, oranges, & oreos._

_Should get to know each other more,_

_Grey Wizard's Cafe_

_Sat. @ 4pm?_

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be under 1k but it really ran away from me :')
> 
> edit: & the code is the first letter of each food! so for those with a hyphen such as unsalted-nuts, it would still be the letter U !


End file.
